


Finding Lilacs at the Astor

by BristlingBassoon



Series: When we met, you'd never expect this [3]
Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Birthday request, Dick is bad at flirting but it still somehow works, Domestic Fluff, Hotel Sex, M/M, New York City, Nix and Winters being domestic, Nix is an ethical slut, Nix's prewar life, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-War, Reflections on first times, Threesome - M/M/M, Was supposed to be pwp but then plot happened, Would you do this one sex thing for me please, Yes the Astor bar was a cruising spot, mysterious hot stranger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27921607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BristlingBassoon/pseuds/BristlingBassoon
Summary: Nix has a birthday request
Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters
Series: When we met, you'd never expect this [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023108
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Finding Lilacs at the Astor

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during the events of Impulse Control, which spans about 20 years. All you need to know is they have a feed store now. 
> 
> Also this was supposed to be a PWP but then I kept writing lots of plot!

He looks beautiful lying there, Dick thinks, as he watches Lewis Nixon from the doorway. His bare leg emerges from the covers, toes nearly brushing the floor. His arm is flung sideways, trailing. The blankets barely covering.

“Sweetheart,” Dick whispers, as he does the last button of his shirt, bends to tie his shoes.

Lewis stirs, sluggishly opening his dark eyes. “Mmm?”

“I’m just about to head out,” Dick says. “You want me to put some coffee on before I go?”

“Nah,” groans Lew. “I’m good. But I’m not letting you leave without a kiss.” He tilts his head coquettishly, eyes closed again.

Dick walks over and carefully sits himself on the bed, in the space left by Lew’s outstretched arm and leg. “If you’re not careful you’ll fall out,” he warns.

“I live on the edge,” Lew mumbles, his voice scratchy and dozy. Dick strokes his forehead, smooths back his hair, bends and kisses him. Lewis makes a contented noise, and moves his arm heavily, clumsily reaching up to stroke Dick’s cheek. Dick takes the opportunity to kiss him again, smiling fondly. And then, before he knows it, he’s compelled to kiss him again, on the jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble beneath his lips. His hand moves almost of its own accord, caressing, down into the sheets, down across the rise of Lew’s chest, running across his torso. Lew smiles, almost shyly, but with a good deal less drowsiness than before. “This your way of waking me up?”

“It might be,” admits Dick, the covers rucked up around his searching arm.

When he reaches down further, he can feel Lew against his hand, stiff and hot. Dick grins, delighted. He gently runs the back of his hand across Lew’s cock, and Lew inhales sharply.

“Darling, you’ll be late for work,” Lew says, but his face has a delightful touch of wickedness to it, that crook of the corner of his mouth that indicates either amusement, or arousal, depending on the situation. Sometimes both. Lew can be…excitable. But now he’s huffing in mock-annoyance, shifting a little in the bed. “I can take care of it myself.”

“Well maybe _I_ want to take care of it,” Dick says, wrenching the blankets back with a flourish.

“If you must,” Lew says, grinning. He gestures at his erection. “Just so you know, these aren’t in short supply. I can make it happen at a more convenient time, when you, I don’t know, don’t have to open up the store before all those farmers get there.”

“It’s up to you how late I’m going to be,” replies Dick in a low, lewd voice. He licks his palm and begins to stroke Lew, gently at first, exploratory touches, before he switches to a firm grip. Lew makes a little noise back in his throat, his hand reaching for Dick, who turns so he can look at Lew’s face. No matter how many times he sees it, it’s always exciting to watch Lew in the throes of pleasure, and how different it is depending on what they’re doing. Now, just handling Lew’s cock, he knows that Lew will finish with a quiet grunt, his face screwed up, eyes closed, his breathing rapid and heavy, but quiet as possible. Noise isn’t something they’ve had to worry about for the last few years, but it’s a habit presumably borne of Lew touching himself secretly in the dark, aware of people in the next room - and try as he might, Dick knows Lew won’t make much noise when he comes. Not from a hand on his cock anyway.

Other acts are a different matter. Oh, he moans when he gets sucked, can’t stop himself, moans and shudders, and when he’s inside Dick he’ll often growl and swear, and oh, when he’s fucked, when he’s the one being fucked, he’s the sweetest of all, whimpering with need, mouth open, begging for it. Profuse with his expressions of love.

Lew’s breathing is quickening now, and Dick moves his hand faster to match it.

“Watch it,” Lew grunts, “don’t want to mess up your clothes.” Dick makes sure he’s well out of range as Lew’s face creases into a frown, his teeth clenched. Dick can’t resist stroking Lew’s face, trying to smooth out all the tension, as Lew issues his quiet grunts, shudders passing through him as he finishes all over himself, all over Dick’s hand. He’d rolled up his sleeve ahead of time to be safe, and this isn’t anything that can’t be fixed at the handbasin.

Lew smiles at him, blissful now, the tension leaving his body. Dick leans over and kisses him.

“Hand,” says Lew, and Dick knows what he wants, bringing his hand to Lew’s mouth so that Lew can carefully lick it clean, his eyes now very open and very fixed on Dick as he works his tongue and lips around each of Dick’s fingers. It’s a particular habit of his that Dick doesn’t quite understand, but Christ if it doesn’t do something for him. It’s taking all of his self-control to not unzip and let Lew suck him there and then, but if he does that, he really _will_ be late for work. Dick gives Lew another kiss, right on his hairline, because he knows if he goes for Lew’s mouth then the two of them won’t be able to stop.

“Jesus, Dick,” Lew says, eyes firmly fixed on Dick’s fly as Dick stands, and tries to resume his morning bustle. “You’ll poke somebody’s eye out with that.” Dick ignores him, pointedly not looking at Lew’s supine, naked form, glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, because if he does he might well not be able to walk away. Lew reaches for him, fingers scrabbling for Dick’s pants leg. “Ah come on! You can’t go to work like that, people will think you like sorghum a little too much.”

“No, they’ll just think it’s a luger that I grabbed in the war,” Dick quips.

Lew groans again, but this time it’s a groan of fond frustration. “You don’t have a luger, Dick, all you’ve got is a ragingly hard cock. Come on, let me suck you off, _please -“_

_“_ Well when you put it like that,” Dick demurs, unzipping his pants and walking over to the bed again.

“What’s your excuse going to be?” says Lew, looking up at Dick through his lashes with all innocence, before he opens his sweet mouth and swallows Dick down, and of course, when Lew’s slurping on him like that, he can’t think of a single one.

—————-

Truth be told, Dick’s not going to be that late for work, Lewis thinks as he brushes his teeth. He always aims to be there a half hour before the store opens at least to restock, get the till ready, feed the chicks, take any early deliveries that they might have (none due today) and by the time Lew gets there two hours later, walking because Dick needs the truck to do deliveries and they can’t afford more than one vehicle at the moment, the feed store is buzzing along nicely. It’s a good routine. The walk’s pleasant, doesn’t take more than 20 minutes except in inclement weather, and by staggering their start times, it means that Lewis gets to sleep in, and Dick gets to go home two hours earlier so he can be there in time to make dinner. He’s a competent cook now and even seems to enjoy it. On Saturdays, they both go in together, Lew barely-awake and grumbling, Dick already having gone on a run through the fields and had a shower and shave and a bowl of wheaties and made both of them sandwiches. It’s bearable because they’re only open until two and have the rest of the afternoon to themselves, which either involves them going into town for a drink, going up to the lake for a swim and a read, or one of them fucking the other senseless into the mattress.

They get their groceries delivered twice a week, milk every second day, left on the doorstep or the mailbox. They have a farmhouse, quakerish and plain, but not really a farm. Most of the acreage has been swallowed up by the neighbour, a fellow called Mr Hansen who grows soybeans and corn, and has a wife and three tow-headed daughters. This suits Lew fine, as he’s sure if they had more than the small fenced-in field that might have once held a milking cow and some trees and a laneway bordering Hansen’s fields, Dick might be tempted to actually become a farmer. As it is he’s already gotten laying hens. Turns out they’re much easier to keep than Lew thought they’d be, as they mostly look after themselves, and of course they get the feed wholesale.

It’s a good routine, but Lew can’t help feeling tempted to disrupt it from time to time, and this morning, well - he got his wish. He grins a little at the thought of it, because there really is nothing like making Dick late for work because he’s busy jerking him off and then coming in his mouth to make him feel wanted. It might be abject, maybe a little crude, but Lewis has known for a long time that he’s like this. 

For him it felt almost instant, the realisation that certain people excited him. He might see a lovely lady in a bias-cut dress, her breasts perfectly highlighted by the drape of lemon satin. Or maybe a man at the races, who’s loosened his tie in the heat, handsome face partially in shadow. That was all it took for young Lewis Nixon to imagine touching them, doing - well, he didn’t know what.

He heard rumours, certainly, and at fourteen his grandfather took him aside and gave him a stern, serious talk about his duties and responsibilities in regards to the marital acts, none of which sounded particularly exciting when described in such a fashion, as pleasure wasn’t mentioned. Some of the boys in his class mentioned the odd thing or two, or passed around a picture. Eventually, he found a book on the subject, which he stole, because he couldn’t imagine buying it. He expected nothing much of use to be in there, other than perhaps the odd diagram, but the book had a surprisingly factual and kind tone to it, and after reading it, he felt a good deal more confident.

So it was that at seventeen, he attended a party at his sister’s friend’s place. Adults might have been in attendance but they were getting drunk rather quickly, and didn’t seem to notice a certain degree of licentiousness among their young charges. He’d begun to harness his youthful charm, learning a rudimentary form of flirting, and he was lucky enough to be superficially handsome, even if he was at that stage so young and ill-formed that he didn’t have much behind the boyish charm. The Nixon name and money didn’t hurt.

That evening, Doris Hartway had broken off from the crowd, offered Nix to get something from her parents’ drinks cabinet, and how about a little tour of the house when he was at it. They might play some sardines later, when the parents went to bed. She was looking stunning that evening, her rich brown hair waved, a hint of colour on her cheeks, her dress cut low enough at the back that he could imagine what she might look like without it. He wanted to run his hands over the satin, to feel her hips underneath.

Perhaps he could ask her to dance later, he’d thought - but then, she was leading him from one room into another and then finally into a third room, a guest room possibly. The bed wasn’t made up.

She saw perhaps that he was nervous, and so she showed him. She kissed him first, her fine fingers at the back of his head, curling through his hair. She took off the dress for him, unbuttoned his shirt. When she guided him inside her, he was surprised. He hadn’t known how slippery a woman would be, how hot and wet it would feel to be inside her, how exciting, how different from his hand. It was awkward, he slipped out a few times, but it became easier when she sat him down and climbed on top of him. She’d told him to let her know when he was close, so they could take the necessary precautions, but it had come sooner than he thought, and he was half-in, half-out of her when he spent himself.

Doris climbed off him, legs wet, expression unreadable. He spent the next three weeks terrified that he might have gotten her pregnant, until of all people, his sister knocked on his door one evening when he was supposed to be studying.

“You’re in luck, Lew,” she’d said, and he felt a sudden rush of nausea at whatever she was about to say. His heart, beating rapidly. Palms, clammy, leaving marks on the table.

“Blanche?”

She looked at him, her grey eyes tinged with amusement.

“Doris had her monthlies. She’s not ruined, you don’t have to marry her.”

The relief must have shown on his face, as Blanche laughed. “Then again, maybe marrying her would have done you some good. Women do tend to keep men out of trouble.” She punched his arm, less lightly than she probably intended. Lew tried to avoid her eyes.“God, look at you! As embarrassed at this conversation as an old matron aunt. Next time, and I know there _will_ be a next time, it’s not something one only does once - go to the pharmacy first and get something for the weekend, why don’t you? Don’t want to get someone in trouble, or end up with VD.”

Lew glared at the floor. “Blanche - stop!”

She laughed again. “If I don’t keep an eye on you, who will?”

Lew took her advice, but he took another conclusion from Blanche’s warning. It was too easy to slip up with women, and the consequences were visible and very damaging. He didn’t want to have to marry before he’d even had a chance to go to college, and procuring an abortion for a poor lady he’d wronged would be illegal at best, life threatening at worst, although at the very least he could probably find the money for a good one. It seemed better to avoid the whole thing, and for a while afterwards he took care of the urges himself.

He’d been frightened of ill-feelings between himself and Doris, but it turned out that after her dalliance with Lew, Doris had gone and taken up with none other than his sister. He couldn’t even pinpoint when he found out, for it was one little thing after another, after another. Catching the two of them sharing a glance, a hand brushing against a hand, the cheek kisses that ventured close to being on the mouth. Then, opening the wrong door, seeing two dark heads together, and what looked like Blanche’s hand down the front of Doris’ dress. He closed the door quickly and walked off, wondering if it were Doris’ mission to bed every young Nixon, or whether she’d made the choice to switch from Lew to a safer alternative. No matter where Blanche’s hands went, there’d be no surprises nine months later.

It was funny the way the world worked.

It wasn’t the end of it. He went to college and discovered men. In many ways, it was more dangerous. The wrong move and you could be sent to prison. The wrong flirtation and you could get punched in the head. But Lew got good at being just flirtatious enough that it could be dismissed as a joke if necessary, but taken as a signal for those in the know.

He kissed his roommate at college and the guy didn’t deck him, and after a little more banter, Lew trying to keep it light, trying to make sure that Steven knew it didn’t have to mean a thing, they were touching each other. He took it as a victory when Steven didn’t hate him the next day. Maybe he’d even let it happen again.

The first time he tried to suck someone, he nearly threw up, but he got better at it. The first time he let someone screw him, he was scared, but the fear excited him, and it didn’t hurt too much in the end. Turns out that the other guy had done it before. Lew can’t remember his name now, but he remembers how he’d thought of it as something from the ancient world, to remind himself that people had done it before. According to an archaeologist he met at a party once, sodomy was the decorative motif of choice on a heck of a lot of pottery. Make of that what you will, and Lew made of it that the guy wanted to fuck him, and he was right.

It’s not that he can’t control himself - he did that for three years, after all, a challenging three years of being in close proximity to Dick Winters and never once trying to smooth the seriousness out of his mouth with his own. It’s more than he knows what he wants, and given the opportunity, he won’t hesitate to do something about it. 

So yes. Lew’s been like that for a long time, and that’s why it threw him for a loop when it turned out that Dick hadn’t known the way he’d known, that he hadn’t woken up at 14 with what felt like a beam of light going into his head and the sudden knowledge that he wanted sex, that he wanted people, that nothing was better for him than touching and being touched, and if you were lucky enough to get a little love in between, well, you were really living then.

The real miracle isn’t that Dick fucks him, it’s that Dick loves him. If he could marry him, he would.

Lew carefully locks the house and begins to walk.

————————

He loves him, he really does.

He loves the way that Lewis walks in, now looking awake and decent and fresh, the way that he greets all the visitors to the store with a garrulous ease. The way he sometimes forgets that he’s supposed to be restocking or cleaning or filling out order forms because he gets chatting to Mr Talbot, who comes in every Tuesday for birdseed and loves what he calls “having a yarn.” How he whistles sometimes, always only half a song, because he can’t remember the other half. Dick finds himself looking at Lew with fondness throughout much of the day, and tells himself to rein it in just in case somebody sees, but all the farmers, the gardeners, the housewives buying vegetable seeds for their kitchen gardens (a victory garden habit that hasn’t yet died), they all love Lew and if they notice that Dick loves him too, don’t seem to think anything of it.

Sure, he’s had a few questions, one from Mrs Wilkinson, asking if the two young men have families and if so would their wives be interested in joining her bridge club. For a minute, Dick thinks about how nice it would be to lie, but a falsehood would be quickly unearthed in a town this small, and would seem far more suspicious than the truth, so he blandly says that he and Lew served together and decided to set up a business once the war was over, and Mrs Wilkinson smiles indulgently and says she hopes they’re eating proper meals and not just sandwiches and tinned soup, and if they need someone to help keep the house in order she might know a girl who wants a little extra work. It’s easier than he expected to get away with. He expected the careful probing questions, the kind his mother asked when they were in the kitchen together last Christmas - but if people are wondering, they’re wondering behind closed doors and they don’t bring it up. He’s not sure what he’ll do if it comes to that.

The men are less likely to gossip. They’re happy to just talk about their crops, their cattle or hogs, the fair that’s coming up, whether there’s a good vet in these parts now that the old guy’s retired. Sometimes a younger man will mention something about where he served, what unit, and ask a curious question, but people mostly want to talk shop and nothing else. Dick listens and nods and smiles, and then settles up their accounts.

——————-

Dick’s just putting dinner in the oven - cottage pie, made out of a leftover roast, a thrifty household hint he’d read in a women’s magazine (he’s not too proud to buy the odd copy of Good Housekeeping, but makes sure he does it in Corning rather than Painted Post), when he hears the engine of the truck and the crunch of gravel.

Lew walks in the door, hangs the truck keys up on the key hook, and kicks off his boots.

“Smells good,” he says, embracing Dick just as he straightens from closing the oven door.

“Thanks,” says Dick, trying to regain his balance - the hug had thrown him off rather, but Lew kissing him more than makes up for it.

“God, one of these days I’m going to have to learn to return the favour,” Lew says.

“Ah, you do other things,” says Dick, fetching them both cans of beer.

“Yeah, but what if you’re sick in bed and all I can do is offer you some Campbell’s?” Lew protests.

“Well it just so happens that I like Campbell’s,” Dick replies, wrangling the can opener. One of the beers spills over, foaming dramatically, and Dick’s about to take that one, but Lew swipes it before he can. He drinks it ostentatiously, spilling beer down his neck as he does so.

“Hey Dick,” Lew says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think Mr Talbot was making eyes at you today.”

Dick looks at him, incredulous.

“I’m serious!” protests Lew. “You haven’t noticed how friendly he is?”

“Well yeah,” Dick says. “To you.” The beer can’s cold on his lip. He should fetch them glasses but something about the casual masculinity of drinking beer directly out of the can appeals to him.

Lew laughs. “Oh, whenever I’m talking to him, his eyes are always shifting to the right, which just happens to be where you’re doing the accounts - and it’s not cause he doesn’t want to talk to me, I’m always just about to leave but then he starts off again, talking about chipping sparrows or something, no, it’s just that he’s trying to talk to me about chipping sparrows because he’s too shy to talk to _you_.”

“About chipping sparrows?”

“I’m sure he’d rather talk to you about something more substantial,” Lew says, grinning.

“Lew, you’re being ridiculous,” Dick replies. “You probably think everyone’s flirting. All the time.”

“It’s certainly how some people operate,” Lew admits. “I’d know.” He chuckles. “You know, I was flirting with you for years before you noticed.”

“You’ve told me,” Dick says, “although I’m not sure how it’s supposed to make me feel. Cross with myself because I didn’t pick up on it?” He sighs. A little cloud passes over Lew’s face. Frustration, or anguish, or regret? “I’m sorry if I made you too lovelorn, Lew. It certainly wasn’t my intention.”

Lew touches his arm. “Oh come off it, you were my friend, it certainly wasn’t nothing.” He takes another drink and says, very casually, “of course, I wished so very dearly that it could be more. But now I’ve got more,” he adds with feeling, “and I don’t want to go fussing about the past and what might have happened. We could have gotten blown up and never gotten here at all.”

“Yes,” Dick says tightly. “and I could have been kissing you for years, instead of you feeling that you were…alone in this, wondering if you’d hate me if you said anything. And I’m mad at that, Lew, because I know it wasn’t really my fault that I didn’t realise - how on earth could I have possibly guessed? But then I feel bad for you and, oh hell, come here -“

He pulls Lew into a hug, crushing him to him. He comes away smelling of spilled beer, and with the lingering feeling of Lew’s arms around him. “Oh, I’m so glad I found you,” Dick says, feeling a sudden wave of emotions that pairs well with the apron he’s wearing and the women’s magazine open on the counter.

Lew nods, as if he’s a little too choked to say anything. He strokes Dick’s cheek instead.

Later that evening, they’re sitting in the front room. Radio’s on, playing light jazz. A little crackly out here, but it’s nice to have the atmosphere. Lew’s reading _Brideshead Revisited_. Dick’s working his way through a collection of catalogues, circling things he thinks they might like to order. Lew laughs suddenly.

“Hmm?” Dick says, trying to decide between three different varieties of yellow squash. He looks up from his catalogue. Lew’s face has cracked into a grin.

“When I started reading this book I didn’t know how queer it was going to be,” Lew says. “They straight-up go to a pansy bar in this!”

Dick gives him a steady look.

“No, really!” Lew continues. “The narrator even says they went to a pansy bar. Those exact words.”

“You know,” says Dick thoughtfully, “I’ve never been to one of those.”

“To where?” Lew asks.

“To a, er, “pansy bar.” Dick blushes. “What are they like? How do you know what kind of bar it is? I gather it’s not on a sign outside.”

Lew giggles. “You want me to take you to one?”

“Not necessarily,” Dick says, “I’ve never found it that much fun being around a whole crowd of drunk people.”

Lew nods, trying not to think about the many times Dick would have counted him among that crowd. “Still, it might be fun,” he says. “Some of them have performers. Female impersonators, that kind of thing.”

“Sure Lew, if you like.” He turns back to his seed catalogues.

“To answer your original question,” Lew says, “they’re a bit like other bars but they’re often worse. Some of them are run by mobsters. Many of them get raided. You can dance at some of them, but at some of them you can’t so much as touch.” He sighs. “Private parties are better, if you can get into one.”

“You go to a lot of those?” Dick asks.

“Well yeah, I did. They weren’t specifically for queers, but there were a lot of them there. You get to know the scenes, and who might want what.” He smirks. “You know, they thought I was a natural fit for intelligence, said I took to the training really well, when the actual fact was I’d been doing it for years already.”

It makes Dick feel sad that Lew’s had to act a spy just to have fun and meet people. Yes, they all have societal expectations, things which are not polite to talk about, things which you daren’t do in the company of certain people, but he wasn’t the one who had to look at a man and try and figure out whether he was safe or not. In the war they had uniforms to go by, different languages. Things to spot even in the dark.

He knows Lew had a life before him, although he hasn’t asked for details before now, but it strikes him as having been very dark indeed. Being what they are, and not having someone come to you first, must feel like being under perpetual light discipline.

“How’d you figure out - “ Dick puts down his seed catalogue and waves a hand generally in the air, vaguely at himself.

Lew scoffs. “I didn’t.”

“You must have!”

“No, you were too hard to decode,” Lew says. “But I must have somehow known you wouldn’t murder me if I tried anything.”

“You were drunk,” Dick reminds him.

“Being drunk’s just a heightened form of your true self,” Lew says. “Lot of people say it as an excuse, “oh, I didn’t mean to, I was drunk” - but the fact is you _did_ mean to, but you just couldn’t stop yourself.” He pats the sofa next to him. “You want to stop pretending to read that seed catalogue and come here for a moment?”

They’re getting ready for bed. Dick’s in a new pair of short pyjamas that Lew has called “absolutely absurd,” Lew’s already in bed upstairs, naked, if he’s following his usual routines.

“Hey Lew,” calls Dick when he’s only halfway up the stairs. “I’ve been thinking -“

“Yeah?” Lew calls back.

“It’s your birthday in a month.”

“So it is,” Lew says in response. He’s got the lamp on and he’s brought the book to bed with him. Must be up to a really good part, either that or he thinks that Dick’s going to be taking his sweet time.

“Well,” says Dick. “What would you like?”

“Ah jeez, it’s a month away!” says Lew, shuffling over a little as Dick gets into bed. “I haven’t thought about it. Can’t you surprise me?”

“Well I could,” Dick says, “but I don’t really want to go to the gift department at Bloomingdales and say “I’m looking for a gift for my buddy” and the clerk just suggests a set of golf clubs.”

“Don’t get me golf clubs,” Lew says darkly. “Golf’s putrid.”

“Well,” says Dick, ‘you’d better suggest something else then, or it will be golf clubs. Or perhaps a lovely golfing sweater, with a matching set of plus-fours. Or a fishing rod for ice fishing. Or what about a nice set of _skis -_ “

“Dick, _stop!_ ” groans Lew. “I already had enough fucking winter in Belgium, if you want to go skiing then stick me in the chalet and leave me there!”

“Of course,” muses Dick, “I could go the other way completely and get you something very sensible. A nice cow, for instance.”

“What do we want with a cow?”

“Well it’s either that or a mower.”

“I’ll go with the mower then,” Lew says. “Mowers don’t defecate.” Dick turns out the light. “Hey! At least give me time to put my book away.” He reaches over Dick and drops the book on the floor, where it flips and thuds. Dick winces.

“I actually do want to get you something nice,” Dick says, as Lew rolls and turns about trying to get comfortable.

“And I love you for it,’ Lew murmurs, finally settling and pulling Dick close against his chest. “But you don’t have to, really.”

“Well how about we do something nice instead? Go on a trip?”

“Mmm,” says Lew, “I’ll think about it.”

They don’t have that much money saved. A lot’s been sunk into the business, and it’ll be a while before they cover all of their establishing costs, but Dick’s sure he can make something work. He just wants to make it a nice birthday for Lew after he’s gone to such effort organising the store. Besides, Lew’s not going to get any nice cards from his mother and father. He’s not going to get presents. He won’t be getting a wonky hand-drawn card from his son which they can tape up on the wall. Dick’s all he’s got right now, and Dick feels a lot of responsibility to make sure Lew knows that he’s still special to someone.

He worries over it a little more, but he’s comforted by the sound of Lew’s steady breathing, enough to slip into sleep himself.

It’s Saturday, and Lew’s managed to drag himself out of bed and plonk himself at the kitchen table, blearily staring into a bowl of cereal. Dick’s busy making them both coffee.

“I’ve come up with something,” Lew says abruptly.

“Huh?” Dick places a cup of coffee next to Lew’s bowl. Lew absentmindedly sticks his cereal spoon into it, swears, takes the spoon out, drinks it anyway.

“I’ve, uh, thought about what I want for my birthday.”

“And what’s that?” Dick’s holding onto his piece of toast so it doesn’t get all wet from the steam condensing on the cold plate.

“I would like…” Lew trails off. Dick looks at him expectantly, eyebrows raised slightly. “An experience.”

“An experience? A show? A play? Ice dancing? Come on, help me out Lew.”

To Dick’s bafflement, Lew suddenly looks very embarrassed. He’s gone all flushed, and he’s staring into his half-empty bowl as if there’s something very interesting in there. “I - uh,” Lew manages to say, and then grinds to a halt. Oh, he’s so pink. Damn it. Shy Lew is adorable, but Dick can never bring himself to enjoy it. The shyness is always a sign of something else - that he’s worried, or afraid that Dick might think ill of him. Dick takes a sip of his coffee in the hope that it might fortify him, but it tastes just the same as always. No secret courage in there, no hidden wisdom or brilliant ideas to make Lew loquacious. He’ll just have to chisel it out of him.

“Well?” he says carefully.

“It’s, uh - um, uh….” Lew tries again. “Well, uh, you know, uh…”

He looks almost terrified. It’s supposed to be a birthday request, and yet Lew looks like he’s about to face court-martial.

“Lew, it’s alright. Whatever it is, I promise I’m not going to laugh.” Dick strokes his hand across the table. “Or be angry.”

“You can’t promise that. You don’t know what it is.”

“Are you going to ask for a record of that infernal song about smoking cigarettes which you’ll then play on loop over and over at 3 am?”

He hates that song. It’s supposed to be funny but it just makes him think of Lew dying slowly, one drag of tar at a time.

“Not exactly,” Lew says.

“Well then, you’re alright.” Christ, what _is_ eating him? Dick assumes the request has to be embarrassing, but he can’t think of anything Lew might have to be embarrassed about. He supposes it might be whiskey (predictable, tiresome rather than embarrassing) or maybe Lew will reveal he has a secret wife he’s been keeping in the hen coop this whole time (gothic, not really his style.) So what is it? Sex? But Lew’s never been shy about that.

“Is it sex?” Dick raises an eyebrow at Lew, looks at him very steadily. “Because if so, we’ve both ejaculated into each other already. Multiple times. I don’t think there are any boundaries left to break.”

Lew makes a startled noise, regains himself and then nods very slightly. Dick recalls them having a version of this conversation several years ago back in Austria, except that time it was Dick blushing while Lew interrogated him about whether he got hard or not. Ha! Considering what they’ve gotten up to over the years, Lew’s questions in Austria seem remarkably tame in hindsight.

“Alright, what would you like to do?” Dick asks again. He gets up and starts clearing away the breakfast dishes, starts running hot water, rummages for soap.

When Lew talks again, he sounds far away. “Before I was in the army,” he starts, and it’s so quiet that Dick turns off the water. “I had a past.”

“I know,” Dick says, although he has no particular ideas of what that past might have looked like, only the knowledge that Lewis didn’t come to him an ingenue.

“Well, the problem is,” Lew says a little hoarsely, “you don’t.”

“I don’t worry about it, if that’s what you’re asking.” He dunks the dishes into the hot water, scrubs, rinses, puts them on the rack.

“You might if you knew.”

Dick dries his hands off in a perfunctory fashion and turns around. Lew’s still sitting at the table, turning a teaspoon over and over in his hands.

“I didn’t know you’d be so beaten up over a birthday,” Dick says.

“Well, I’m just not sure you want what I want.”

“It’s your gift, Lew.” Dick comes over and rubs Lew’s shoulders. His hands are slightly damp, they leave patches on Lew’s shirt. He sighs, dips his head forward a little. Dick runs a hand upwards, through the bristles at the base of Lew’s head, feeling where bristles become softness as his hair gets longer. He can’t stop himself from dipping his head and kissing Lew behind the ear, along the side of his neck, his temple when Lew turns. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Lew sighs slowly, and then lets the words finally leak out. “When I was doing all the things I did before I met you, there was one thing I didn’t get to do.”

Dick makes an encouraging noise, kisses Lew again.

“And now, I’d like to do it. But if you don’t want to do it, promise me that you’ll say so, and I’ll forget about it forever.”

Dick doesn’t know what to say to this. He nods reluctantly, but he’s still behind Lew and the gesture is useless.

“Please.”

_Well have at it_ he wants to demand, but he feels the need to ease Lew into this confession, or whatever it might be. “Alright, Lew. I’ll agree to that.”

“Dick,” Lew says quietly, his voice very low in his chest. “I want to be fucked at both ends. At the same time.”

Dick grips Lew’s shoulder. His mind has a blank weirdness to it, as if the words have gone in but he hasn’t heard them.

“So.” He manages to say. “You’ll need more than me to do that.”

Lew twists in his chair to look at him, face hesitant. “That’s - yes. That’s right.”

He suddenly imagines a line of Lew’s former lovers. All the people he’s ever had. Like a breadline, queuing up for a tiny sliver of the guy, and he has the whole thing.

“Did you have anyone in mind?” 

Lew shakes his head. Dick imagines those former lovers again, all the beautiful old flames waiting to take up Lew and kiss him.

“I think it’s better if it’s someone we don’t know.”

_We_ strikes him. Not _I,_ which might suggest a fellow of Lew’s kept waiting by the phone, but _we._

“I see.” Dick takes a seat at the other side of the table. He can hear every shuffle of his feet across the floor, the scrape of the chair, Lew’s quiet breathing. Everything. Lew’s watching him with those dark, careful eyes. Waiting. “I’ll need to think on it.”

“Of course,” Lew says all in a rush. “Certainly.”

They ought to be getting going, brushing teeth, feeding the poultry, getting ready to open up the store, but Dick feels glued there and Lew doesn’t look as if he’s able to move much either. It’s an odd look, having him frozen there. Usually he’s either languid or fidgety, but this version of Lew is as still as a doe in a forest, waiting to find the source of a sudden sound.

Wary, yes, but beautiful.

Dick wonders if he’s feeling jealousy. He imagines another man taking Lew while he watches, how he’d moan and cry out with another man inside him. The truth is, Lew looks beautiful when he’s being fucked. He looks beautiful all the time. Dick feels privileged to see that. Maybe it doesn’t matter that he isn’t the first to see it, or even the second or the third, or the fiftieth - Lew could have fucked every second person on earth for all he cares. It doesn’t matter, when he knows the way that Lew looks at him, with those soft eyes. How he said he’d held a torch for him, as sweet as any wartime bride.

Christ, his heart. He sometimes wishes his feelings were simple - they aren’t, and yet they are. Fuck it. More than anything else he wants him happy.

“Let me organise it,” he says with certainty.

—————————-

Lew lies on the bed and waits. The room in New York has more light than he expected, something about it is open. There’s enough mirrors there to give the place a grand feel, and he supposes he should feel grand, as the hotel bears the name of one of the grandest old families in New York, but he’s a Nixon and grand is an old feeling for him.

He wonders who Dick is going to bring, or whether he won’t end up bringing anyone at all, whether he’ll be twisting his hat in the doorway and whispering apologetically. _Sorry Lew, slim pickings at the bar. Guess it’s just you and me tonight._ Although it wouldn’t be what Lewis nervously hopes might happen, it’d still be enough.

At least this hotel has a reputation. It shouldn’t be too hard to find someone feigning nonchalance down there, eyes sliding about just a little too much.

He offered to help him, but Dick had waved him aside and protested that because it was his present, he ought to be the one to organise it. He worries Dick might not be up to the task - he’s not a fool, but he’s not a flirt either, and bless him, the man can be oblivious. How in god’s name is he going to find out which fellow is up for, well, whatever this is? He can imagine sweet-talking a man himself, sidling up to him and saying to him _my friend and I would like to get you a drink,_ all low and sweet, but his mind draws a blank at Dick doing the same thing. He expects it’ll be more of a firm handshake and a business proposition. _Say fella, what do you say you come upstairs and fuck my friend will ya?_ He doesn’t know why imaginary Dick has an aw-shucks Jimmy Stewart voice, but that’s what his restless brain has come up with, and he may as well laugh at it.

Now he’s imagining the man Dick brings up actually will be Jimmy Stewart. The one guy in Hollywood who doesn’t have any swish in him. Now that’d be something.

There’s a knock at the door. It’s the two short one combo they came up with. He rolls off the door and opens it, expecting Dick.

The blond guy standing there is decidedly not him. He’s wearing a brown suit. Shorter than both of them, clean-shaven face, brown eyes. He looks impressively sure of himself, a little excited, like a guy just given champagne.

Lewis has always liked blond with brown eyes. He’s always liked a lot of things, come to think of it.

“Come in then,” he gestures, and the guy follows him in, ambles over to one of the armchairs. Sits down, legs wide.

“Hello,” the blond says. He stands up again and goes to give Lew a handshake. Lew takes his hand, smiling. The hand is warm, no rings on it. “Your friend will be up in a moment, he says.”

There’s something about his accent, northern European. Dutch, or Norwegian maybe. Lewis can’t quite place it. It’s not German at least. He won’t have to think about that tonight.

“May I call you something?”

“Whatever you like,” Lew says.

The man smiles, but doesn’t pick a name. “You can call me Tom,” he says. There’s a dimple showing in his cheek when his mouth curves like that. 

“You like a drink, Tom?” Lew says, waving a hand in the direction of the bar cart.

“No thank you, I am fine.” Tom has sat down again, crossed his legs.

“You do much of this?” Lew asks. Silly question, he never much appreciated it whenever anyone asked him that, usually just put his mouth on them to quiet them. But thank God, Tom might not be as forward as he once was himself, but he’s not wide-eyed and worried. He won’t need his hand held through it, won’t have his sense of self crumble the second he realises what he’s done.

“From time to time,” Tom replies.

“Good man,” says Lew absently, and Tom grins. Lew hears the keys turn in the door.

——————

Dick’s worried about what he’ll find.

Of course they couldn’t go up at the same time, and he sent Tom first because he feels there’s less chance of them being caught that way -but he imagines walking in on Lew and Tom locked together, Lew’s neck bared to Tom’s kisses.

He can’t explain the rush of relief when he walks in and sees that they are sitting apart. It’s silly, as he knows that Tom being intimate with Lew is part of the deal, but he’s glad they didn’t get started without him. He’d like to watch, if nothing else. He’s never watched before.

Their ease makes him glad. It absolves him. He might be orchestrating this manoeuvre but the other two can be independent, they’ll take direction but won’t stand panicked with no orders.

Orders, christ. This is meant to be Lew’s thing, even if he’s the one trying to get it to happen.

He walks over and sits next to Lew, putting his lips to his ear. “Darling, where do you want to start?”

Lew turns and kisses him. He’s conscious of Tom’s eyes on him, but it doesn’t feel as bad as he thought it would. It’s a relief really, the thought that he can kiss someone, have his mouth soft and willing against Lew’s, feel Lew’s breath in him, those warm hands on his face, and yet not have to worry about being seen because the one who’s watching won’t mind. When they break away, Lew’s lower lip glistens. Dick feels a flip within him.

“I’ll take care of it,” Lew says softly, a voice that doesn’t match the trace of wickedness in his smile. “Just tell me where you’d like to finish and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Oh, oh god, he’s really going to do this. They’re really _both_ going to do this, to use Lew at the same time.

“Your mouth,” he ends up murmuring. “I want you to look at me.”

“Good man,” Lew says. “Now let’s not leave Tom waiting.”

Dick watches as Lewis Nixon undoes his tie and unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt, and god help him if he can’t help going up to Lew and sliding a hand into his shirt, down his chest, for the love of touching him. Lew gently removes his hand and keeps unbuttoning, taking his shirt off, taking his undershirt off, pausing to let Dick kiss his back and run a hand across his ass, then moving forward, down on his hands and knees, which is a sight that makes Dick want to grab Nix by the hair and press his face to Dick’s thigh, where he will undoubtably grab Dick’s fingers and suck on them slowly and teasingly, one by one.

Dick holds back this impulse and trembles a little as he sees Nix run a hand up Tom’s clothed thigh.

He gets to work quickly, taking Tom in his hand, shoving his pants down a few inches until Dick can see a sliver of pale thigh, vulnerable looking against Lew’s hand. He can’t see much else because Lew’s head is in the way, but when he moves, he gets a full view of Lew fondling the other man. His hand stroking, and the blond’s cock stirring in response. He’s uttering little noises, the odd gasp, and only gasps more when Lew opens his mouth and darts his tongue.

He should hate it. He knows it’s only logical, only natural to hate seeing your beloved service someone else, in flagrante delicto, but he can’t hate it because Lew just looks so, so happy, and there’s something about watching him please someone that sends a rush through Dick. Maybe he’s a cuckold, he supposes, but he knows Lew fully intends to handle both of them.

Lew looks so goddamn good with his mouth full.

He finds himself reaching down to touch his own cock through his trousers. Tom’s got his head back, eyes closed, making fluttery little noises as Lew takes him in his mouth, and Dick decides that it’s time to handle Lew himself. He runs his hands over Lew’s ass, squeezing him, and then grabs Lew by the hips and rubs himself against him. Lew makes a noise, pulls himself free of Tom for a moment, cranes his head over his shoulder at Dick and says in a low voice, “easy.” _Don’t go too fast, you might blow your load too early._ The trouble is, the tone of his voice alone makes Dick tremble.

He busies himself undoing Lew’s belt, sliding it carefully free of his trousers, dropping it and hearing the clink of the metal. The pants go next, the fine wool falling in fluid folds. Dick runs his hand up the inside of Lew’s thigh, feels him through his underwear, then decides that has to go too, at least down far enough that Dick can put his hands on bare skin. All of his clothing is just pushed down rather than off, but at least Lew’s had the foresight to remove his shoes beforehand. Always cut the mood a little, having to struggle with a bootlace.

Lew’s shoulders rise and fall. One arm is on the chair, one hand grips Tom’s hip, his head ducks. Lew’s thigh shivers as Dick’s hand slides. Oh, he wants him.

He fetches the vaseline. Lew’s muscles shiver like a horse’s, as Dick pushes a slick finger inside him. He doesn’t go too deep, just eases fingers into him, gently kneading, feeling him give.

Lew stops and struggles upright. He’s panting a little and his mouth is wet, determined.

“You good?” he says to Tom, who nods. Damn, the man’s calm. Dick wonders if climax will even ruffle him, and then realises he’ll find out.

“You?” Dick nods too, his breath a little ragged from excitement. He figures it’s about time he stripped off some. With three bodies this close together, it’s far too warm to fuck fully clothed.

Lew steps out of his pile of clothing and helps Dick unbutton, not that it’s easier with two people, especially since Lew keeps kissing him. Every kiss sends heat through him, especially when Lew runs his mouth along Dick’s chest and nips at him.

“Can’t wait to have you,” Lew murmurs against his skin.

With all the interruptions, it feels an age before they get Lew on the bed. They stand back, letting him arrange himself. They don’t want to tire him. Nothing worse than a fantasy interrupted with the reality of a cramped arm or dead leg. Lew stretches, and then gets himself into position. All fours, his head near the edge of the bed. He arches his back a little, gives Tom and Dick a steady look, a nod. “I’m ready.”

They move as if choreographed. Wordlessly, Tom gets behind Lew, hands on his hips, and guides himself into him. He’s stripped off too but left his socks on, which is oddly endearing, if not especially sexy. Lew moans a little as he’s breached, and drops his head.

“Ok?” Tom says.

“Yes, keep at it.” He still sounds breathless, and Dick worries if having the two of them will be too much for him.

“Lew,” he murmurs, crouching in front of him. “You still want me to?”

“Yes, goddamn it.” Lew’s eyes look a little glazed. “You’re going to take me - ah! Like I deserve.” He gets a fierce set in his jaw.

“Well, if you’re sure -“

He runs his hand over Lew’s face, and Lew turns his head and starts working at his hand with his mouth in the way he likes. “I want you to fuck me like a _whore,”_ he mumbles into Dick’s fingers.

He’s so shocked he almost drops his hand, but the look in Lew’s face is so determined, so nakedly sexual, that it’d be cruel to deny him, even if he doesn’t understand.

He thinks of whorishness with roughness, with cruelty and a lack of morals, people using desperate people, chewing them up and spitting them out. He doesn’t think Lew’s desires make him whorish at all.

“Ah, come on,” Lew whines. He reaches out and he’s pawing at Dick, his hand gripping him. He licks him, a long slow movement of his tongue down the shaft, and then rakes his teeth lightly against him. Dick wants to yelp. Then Lew lets Dick in.

His mouth is so sweet and hot on him, so deliciously wet, he has to close his eyes to take it in. “Oh,” he says, hand on Lew’s face, feeling the bulge of his own cock through Lew’s cheek as Lew sucks him. He’s acutely aware of all the sounds all of a sudden. The slap of Tom’s thighs against Lew’s ass as he fucks him. The wet slurping of Lew’s mouth, the stifled little noises he makes in the back of his throat as he takes it. His own ragged breaths. He feels his head fall back, a whine coming from his throat. His fingers grasp at Lew’s hair.

He finally manages to open his eyes and looks down, and oh god, Lew’s looking at him, eyes upwards, wide and dark, gaze filtered by his eyelashes. He looks so good like that, and the way - oh god. Lew takes him so deep then, that he’s not being sucked any more, just being squeezed by the pull of Lew’s throat. He stills his hands, not wanting to choke him, but the feeling is so intense he can hardly stand it.

When Lew pulls back, all the way back, there are tears in his eyes, and he’s slavering.

“Why did you -“ Dick gasps.

“Wanted to try it,” barks Lew, chest heaving.

“Careful,” he murmurs, stroking the back of Lew’s head. “Easy there….”

But Lew doesn’t want to rest. He’s opening his mouth again, and Dick has to put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Just…hit my thigh if it’s too much,” he implores.

Lew nods, and satisfied, Dick lets him take him again. This time his mouth is softer on him, wetter, and he finds himself thrusting a little before he can think to still himself. Lew shuts his eyes and slides free for a moment, enough to mumble “keep doing that, it’s easier than me moving.” Right. It must be a challenge having to suck while being fucked, being jolted and shoved around from behind.

He’s getting all in his head now and can’t bring himself to fuck Lew’s face the way he wants, so he focusses on Tom for a moment. He’s never seen anyone other than Lew fuck before, so it’s interesting to see how someone else handles it.

“Come on,” growls Lew, sounding a little frantic.

“Just - just let me -“ Dick says, and walks around the bed. He wants to see what it looks like, to be a third party in the act.

The rush of arousal that comes over him comes as a surprise. He could just about come watching Lew with a man inside him. Seeing his lover ploughed like that just _does_ something he didn’t expect. It’s incredible being able to concentrate on the watching. Lew’s face all screwed up as Tom bears down on him, their panting, the sheen of sweat on both of them. Tom’s ass clenching as he thrusts, he didn’t know how much he’d like that, oh, and that beautiful dip to Lew’s back as he raises his hips, pushing backwards, begging to take it. He’s so filled with want.

“Please,” whines Lew all of a sudden, and Dick feels his conviction come back. Right. Lew wants to be fucked. He wants them to finish in him, he wants to be wrung out, used, he wants to service them and have them call him good, have them call him sweet, their mouths and hands and cocks on him and in him, and him sweetly taking it until he can’t stand it any longer.

He walks back and starts to fuck Lew’s mouth, watching as his cock slides in and out of those lips, Lew breathing heavily through his nose, his eyes closed, his body jolting, shoulders shuddering. Tom grabs him as if to support his flagging body, and Dick knows Lew physically can’t take much more of this. They have to finish in him soon, or he’ll exhaust himself.

He catches Tom’s eye, and the guy, bless him, grinds himself right into Lew, pounding at him so hard that each thrust sounds like a slap. With this, Dick fucks Lew’s face hard and rhythmically, listening to the gulping and slurping, the wet sloppy sounds of Lew being fucked open until his legs tremble. He gently puts a hand on Lew’s throat and feels the movement, he holds him firmly by the jaw and thrusts and thrusts and thrusts -

With a jolt his cock slides against the roof of Lew’s mouth and he comes, moaning in a way he almost never does. It’s so bare and naked sounding it might have made him embarrassed, if not for the way that Lew’s swallowing it all, as if he can’t get enough.

“Oh, oh god - oh darling,” he says, “oh good boy, good _boy_ , you’re so good, oh you’re so -“

Lew pulls free and slumps down, head on the bed, almost entirely worn out. But he keeps his hips high for Tom, although his knees are sliding further and further apart as Tom fucks him, now grunting something in a foreign language that sounds like it must be a form of praise, if the look on his face is any indication. With a final word, the man’s mouth opens and he shudders, pumping into Lew with two final slow thrusts. Lew moans too, and Dick knows the feeling. There’s nothing like the rush of hotness, the feeling that someone’s lost control inside you. When Tom pulls free, Lew’s already coming, spurting on the bed in a creamy, glistening arc.

Dick strokes Lew’s shoulders and his head, murmuring again. _It’s alright, it’s alright, good boy, there, that’s it. Good boy. I love you._

Lew’s eyes are as wet as his mouth.

———-

It’s quite a feeling.

He’s so bone tired now, but he regrets none of it. When he moves he can feel the wetness inside him, the stickiness on his thighs, on his torso. He feels a little sore and shaky but it was worth it, the feeling. Seeing Dick’s eyes following his, watching Dick’s face as the flush crept up his neck and he cried out. Having Dick fuck and use him the way he wanted, oh god, having Dick finish in his mouth while being fucked, his ass clenching as he swallowed. So full he could hardly take it.

Bless him, bless them both for doing it.

Dick’s coming out of the bathroom with a steaming washcloth in his hands.

“You ok?” he murmurs, wiping down Lew’s face gently. Lew lets himself relax into the warmth, the cat’s-tongue of the towelling. Dick runs the cloth over his neck, his chest, over his abdomen and thighs. It’s cooling now but it still feels nice, and he sighs, settling back down against the pillows.

“It wasn’t too much for you, was it?”

“Almost,” Lew says, smiling languidly.

It was nice being shared but now it’s nice to be alone with him. Tom was a gift, really, sensible enough to take one look at Dick fussing over Lew and know that it was time for him to quietly clean himself up, dress and slip out of the room. It’s unlikely they’ll ever see him again, Lew thinks, and he feels nothing more than gratitude. Quite different from years ago, when a man leaving the room filled him with sadness. He seems a nice fellow but Lew doesn’t need more than one man, not now.

“Did you like him?” Dick asks.

Lew chuckles. “Dick Winters, procurer. Who’d have thought you had the talent?”

“I’ll have you know I’m very good at organising things,” Dick counters.

“Have I been that successful in instructing you in the art of flirting?” Lew says boldly, raising an eyebrow.

“Really.” There’s a stern note in Dick’s voice, and a face that indicates he’s trying not to smile. “There are other ways of achieving a goal.”

“Oh, how so?”

“Well, you told me of the Astor’s notorious reputation, so it didn't take me very long to find a man who looked like he might suit our purpose. I looked at him a second longer than normal, and he looked at me a second longer than normal, so I went up to him and said something to him in a friendly tone. I believed I asked him if he liked lilacs.”

Lew scoffs.

“Well, I felt he’d gather my meaning. If that didn’t work I was going to try pansies.”

“Pansies!” Lew splutters. “Oh Dick, no!”

“Well anyway!” Dick says over him, “it worked, didn’t it? He looks at me right in the eye and says “I find flowers cheer the room.” And I raised my eyebrow, and said “my friend and I are visiting, does New York have anything to recommend it?” And then he says something like “well, the people are friendly.”

“That’s terrible,” Lew groans. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“Anyway, I said something pleasant to him and got up and left the room, and he followed me, and then I said something about how my friend was upstairs and would he join us for a game of cards, and he said that he would, and I said it might be a game you’re not familiar with, and he said he liked to try new games. So I told him which room you were in, and we went from there.”

“Well congratulations to Tom’s subtle mind,” Lew says, “because I wouldn’t have had the first idea what you were talking about.”

“You might not have," Dick counters, “but you might have followed me anyway.”

Lew grins. “You’re right, I probably would.”

They lie in companionable silence for a moment, Dick running his fingers through Lew’s hair in a way that makes him want to purr.

“I’m so soft for you, you know that.”

Dick’s mouth crooks up into a little smile. “Well, Lew, I’d have to say the same about you.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to do this.” Lew shuffles over so he’s got his head lying on Dick’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Dick keeps stroking his hair.

“Anything for you,” Dick says fondly, and Lew wants to melt, even though he knows it can’t be true. Not _anything._ There are always limits, always conditions. He wouldn’t expect anything else.

“Well thanks,” Lew says. Dick huffs, surprised. “No, Richard Winters, I mean it. Sincerely, thank you. I expected you to say no.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Well, uh, it’s not something most people would want to do.”

“Am I most people, Lew?”

“Well no,” he sighs a little, “but you’re not me either. You don’t have a reputation for this sort of thing.”

“Yes,” Dick admits, “but I have a habit of following your lead.”

Lewis reflects on this and realises it’s true. Dick didn’t say no to Nixon, or to Corning either. He might say he needs to think - he often does - but he always comes back saying he’ll follow him to the end of the line. Lew knows he’d do the same for him, but no matter how many times Dick says _alright Lew, let’s do it,_ he’s taken aback that Dick would want to.

“Did you like it?” Lew asks, and Dick stops stroking his hair for a moment.

“I did.” He lowers his voice, Lew can hear it deep and sturdy his chest. “I thought I wouldn’t, but - it was hot. To see you like that.”

“You sound surprised,” Lew says, grinning.

“I liked watching you. I get a different sense of you, your appetites.” He sounds thoughtful. “I was never in the habit of thinking about private lives, always thought it was your business what you did before. The Lewis Nixon I knew started when we met, and that was what I decided to go on.”

“But now you’re wondering,” Lew says.

Dick is quiet. Lew’s feeling cool now, and moves to cover them with the blanket. They shift and shuffle around until they’ve regained a sense of comfort, and Dick’s rolled on his side to fit against Lew’s back, their hands clasped together.

Maybe he isn’t wondering, but Lew thinks it’s time to tell him anyway. He’s seen a side of Lew he hasn’t seen before, and he hasn’t run away yet. Maybe it’s alright if he knows the rest.

“Dick,” he says quietly. Dick’s breathing is regular and steady now, and Lew wonders if he’s beginning to doze off, but he mutters a reply that doesn’t sound too sleepy. “I wasn’t your first, was I?”

“First guy. Never made a move before, didn’t know what it was, really.”

He still can’t comprehend that Dick _didn’t know what it was_ , but maybe someone as in his own head as Dick is can dismiss those baser urges, or at least put them away to be brought out as needed. He’s unlocked something in that man, he knows it, and can’t help but feel a strange sense of pride in being the key.

“Do you know what they said about Julius Caesar?”

A surprised snort of laughter from Dick. “Something about him dividing Gaul into 3 parts? Bewaring the ides of March?”

“Not quite. They said he was every woman’s man, and every man’s woman.” Lew swallows. “And, well, that was me.”

Dick’s quiet, and Lew worries he’s uncomfortable. By some miracle he might be able to accept Lew being fucked in front of him, but the thought of him being so nakedly promiscuous might be too much.

When he speaks again he sounds confused. “How?”

Lew laughs. “What do you mean, how? How did I gad about so much?”

Dick clutches him tighter. “How did you - how does that even happen?” He sounds a little overwrought.

“You found Tom at the bar,” Lew says.

“Well yes, but - you told me where to look and what to find. Did you have some wise mentor yourself? Some book or guide?”

Oh, bless him.

“I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

He gently disengages himself from Dick’s limbs and rolls around so he can lie facing him. Dick’s red eyebrows are knitted in an expression of genuine confusion. He looks so lost, Lew has a strange desire to laugh. He strokes Dick’s cheek instead.

“I can understand the women. Especially during wartime,” Dick says in that bewildered tone. “But the men. How did you know? I hadn’t even considered the possibility until you - brought it up.” He closes his eyes for a moment.

“Oh darling,” Lew says. He’s not usually into the terms of endearment, he prefers to touch, but the word brings a smile to Dick’s face, a smile that’s lovely and warm and makes Lew not want to tell him anything else in case he loses that look forever.

“It must have been different,” Dick supposes. “But I’d like to understand.”

Lew sighs, takes Dick’s hand again, squeezes it. “You want to know how I had the opportunity.”

Dick nods.

“I’d go to parties.” Lew keeps his voice steady, quiet, not wanting to startle him. “There were a lot of them. The money is a magnet, and I had a name. I didn’t have to be a good person to earn attention. If you want sex, drinking, gambling, and you’re rich, it’ll come to you if you let it - and it doesn’t matter what kind. If you want something, you can procure it. If there’s a scandal, there’s money to cover it up. It’s all just _there,_ and I was born to it.”

Dick has a strange, sad look on his face.

“If you’re queer,” Lewis says, hearing the word in his mouth, the word almost everyone avoids saying. “If you’re rich, it’s Ok. You can avoid the consequences. If you’re poor, it’s Ok. You can’t get any lower. You’ve got nothing to lose. If you’re very bohemian you might be able to find a crowd who’ll let you in, who might joke about it but won’t much mind. It’s people like you, Dick, the middle class folk, those good, honest, ordinary decent people that make up America, you’re the ones who feel the pain of it the most, who suffer.”

A flit of pain makes its way across Dick’s features.

“Do you want me to tell you about them?” Dick squeezes his hand and nods once. Opens his eyes and fixes Lew with a steady, blue gaze.

“Were they good to you?”

It’s Lew’s turn to feel a pang of hurt as he remembers.

“There was Doris, first off,” he says quietly. “I wasn’t as careful as I should have been.”

“What happened to her?” Dick asks, voice coloured with concern.

“Oh, she was fine,” Lew says. “But I had a real scare. I was terrified I’d have to marry her, but it turned out alright. I thought she’d never forgive me, but she ended up taking up with Blanche in the end.”

Dick makes a surprised noise. “I didn’t know Blanche was -“

“Yeah, she’s cut from the same cloth as it turns out.”

“Oh.”

Lewis continues. “They’re not together any more but from what little I knew about it, they were happy enough, until they got bored and moved onto other people. I’m not sure what Blanche does now she’s married, I haven’t asked, but she showed every sign of liking male company too. With any luck she’s not too unhappy.”

“What a strange world we live in,” Dick says in a musing fashion. Lew wonders if this is the first time he’s heard of lesbianism, wonders if it’s in the books he’s read.

“After Doris, I thought women might be too risky. I didn’t want an obligation I couldn’t keep. So I started seeing if I couldn’t get something from men too.”

He’s worried the next part might hurt Dick. Women are one thing, it’s understood that few men go to the altar untouched by female hands. Of course Lewis would have taken up with women, but maybe the men will be more hurtful to hear about.

When Dick speaks, his voice makes Lewis want to cry. It’s bereft of the anger he feared.

“Were any of them kind?”

Oh Dick, oh..

“Some were,” he says, “but many were scared, or angry, or didn’t want to think about it. I like sex, I like fucking and being fucked, you know that - but while it’s easy enough to get a man for a night, or a week, or maybe a month, it’s very hard to keep him.”

“Oh. I see.”

“It’s hard to know if they’ll hate you in the morning.” He takes a deep breath. “And with you…when we first did anything, I was scared you might.”

“Oh Lew,” says Dick, sounding a little choked. “How could you ever think that?”

Lew’s quiet. He closes his eyes and feels Dick stroke his face, feels Dick kiss him, murmur against his mouth.

“There was one,” Lewis finds himself saying.

“Kathy?” asks Dick, pausing mid kiss.

“No,” Lew says. “No, I liked Kathy well enough, she’s whip-smart, has her head in the right place, looked at me and decided she’d accept the challenge. Put her hands on my shoulders and said Lewis, you hear me, you marry me, your philandering days are over. I don’t care about the guys, but if you’re going to go through with this, you need to do it properly. I never should have agreed to that.”

Dick shifts uncomfortably.

“I didn’t screw around, Dick, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No - I wasn’t -“

“I didn’t screw around any, but I didn’t love her very much either. It’s not cause she’s a woman, it’s because, well…” he sighs. “Imagine. You get hitched, you spend a couple of wedding nights, if your wife is scared it’s going to hurt she’s pleasantly surprised - god knows, if you’ve taken it, you’re not going to subject anyone else to the pain of being under-prepared. Then you go off to training. You promise yourself you’ll be good. After all, you’d have to be a complete fool to screw around under the watchful eye of military command. They ask you if you like girls, you say sure, fine, I love girls. It’s not a lie. I just like guys a bit more. So I think I’m all set, I’m going to make some nice wholesome buddies for once, not just hang around with expensive people with bankrupt hearts. Not that all the rich people in the world are horrible, mind you, I get along pretty well with my sister, but money puts a certain sheen on things. Much like being drunk.”

“So who was the one, then?” Dick’s voice is a little muffled by Lew’s shoulder.

“I’m getting to it.” He opens his eyes slowly. Dick is watching him, face serious. He pulls him to him, so now Dick’s head is pressed to his shoulder, and his arms are around his back. He’s lean and warm like always, and it feels so good to hold him.

“You start training and meet this serious, sensible guy. He takes the training a good deal more seriously than you could have conceived of, and he’s so unlike you that at first you find him infuriating. But he’s kind and thoughtful and full of care - you can’t stop thinking about him, and before you know it, you’re fucked.” He clears his throat. “Because you’ve fallen in love, and you’re scared because you don’t think you’ve ever fallen in love before, not really. Not like this.”

Dick murmurs something soft to him, something gentle and placating. He continues, letting his voice roll out into the lamplit room.

“You want to get to know him, this guy, and you only know one way to do it. The funny thing is, he takes your flirting as simple friendliness, and he’s so open and calm and happy to be with you, that you start to think you’re going to spoil it. You’ll slip up and be too crude one day and he’ll realise who you are, and he’ll be horrified. And if he’s not horrified by the attraction, he’ll be disgusted to learn he’s just the last in a long line of other people.”

“Lewis -“ Dick says softly, moving his arms over Lew’s back.

“Well anyway, you’ve seen me now. You know what I’m like. I just want you to know that it wasn’t all sex, it wasn’t all just me rutting. I wanted more than that. I hope you can understand.”

He feels a hot prickle behind his eyes, and hopes nothing will come of it. Tears seem more vulnerable than sex somehow.

“Lewis, I could never think ill of you.” Dick’s voice is so gentle, a blanket he could rest under. “I never would.”

“Can you kiss me?” Lewis says gruffly. “I think I need it right now.”

They rest there for a time then, eventually falling asleep. Lew wakes when Dick accidentally kicks him, and once again when he finds himself nearly falling out of the bed. Twin rooms are not made for bed sharing, but there’s no way in hell he was going to get into the unused bed and sleep alone, not when he hasn’t done it for years. Sleeping next to Dick is an addiction he’s not willing to break.

As the pale dawn breaks, sneaking fingers through the curtains, Lew thinks of what they might do. They’re in New York, after all, and Dick has barely seen it. He might take him to a show. Either something on Broadway, or maybe he’ll drag him down to those smoky little cafes on Greenwich village, where comedians and poets and people dragging guitars and harmonicas say and sing their pieces. He hasn’t seen the delis, the bookstores, the sights. Chrysler building looks good in the evening. Might take him to a bar too, at least show him one side of the world he’s missed. He hasn’t seen a beautiful man in a dress drink out of a martini glass, and Lew’s sure he would be delighted in that lovely, fresh way that Dick’s delighted by anything novel, any sign of someone enjoying life in a way he hasn’t seen before. 

Let me show you, he wants to say. I love you so much, and let me show you.

Dick stirs. “Oh, you’re awake already,” he says, voice rough with sleepy fondness, eyes crinkling a little as he looks at Lewis, lets him kiss him. “That has to be a first.” He looks up and about the room, and suddenly his face lights up. “Oh, it’s your birthday now! Happy birthday, Lew.”

Before Lew’s thought much about it, he’s out of bed and lifting Dick up into his arms. Christ, he hasn’t carried anyone for a couple of years now, he forgot how much of a strain it is. Dick goes with it - he locks his arms around Lewis’ shoulders, but he still looks at him with confusion.

“Here,” says Lew, carrying him over to the window. “Let me show you the world.”

He puts Dick down and the two of them stand behind the curtain, arms locked around each other as the city wakes.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't read extensively on the subject but a brief read informs me that the bar at the Astor actually was a singles hookup, and a cruising spot. It's mentioned both in High Society, and in a double-entendre laden song called She Had To Go And Lose It At The Astor, so make of that what you will.


End file.
